A Not So Boring Case
by Sherlock221
Summary: It was a quiet day at Baker Street, until something unexpected happened. Sherlock may regret calling this particular day boring after all. Hurt/John/Sherlock Protective/John/Sherlock. Mature content in later chapters. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

A/N This idea popped into my head. If you guys like it, hopefully this will be a long story. Enjoy!

A not so boring case

John was sitting in his chair reading a newspaper, when the door buzzed. He looked up to Sherlock expectantly, but the detective did not even flinch or look up from his computer.

"Must be a client," John stated, trying to make conversation.

"Boring," Sherlock scoffed.

"How do you know that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shrugged, and John sighed loudly.

"It's been two days since a client showed. How are you not even slightly interested?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment. And then, "I'm busy."

"With what?" John yelled, more harshly than he intended to.

Sherlock finally turned to look at him. "I said I am busy. With what, is none of your concern. Now leave me alone."

John threw his newspaper to the side just as Mrs. Hudson opened the door and peeked her head through. "Boys, there's a man at the door for you. He's very upset."

John looked at Sherlock to see him childishly turn back towards his computer, giving John his answer. "Not now Mrs. Hudson. Apparently we are busy," John stated sarcastically, receiving a smirk from Sherlock.

"Well, all right. I'll send him away," Mrs. Hudson said, hurrying back down the stairs.

John sighed again, getting up from the chair. He walked to the window and opened the curtains. Behind him he heard Sherlock grimace from the light that suddenly filled the flat. John noticed the window had been opened.

"Did you open this?" John questioned.

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

"No."

"Huh." Suddenly, something flew past John through the window, landing loudly on the floor, in the middle of the room.

John jumped back , looking to Sherlock, but Sherlock was gazing at the object.

A small, grey grenade lay on the floor between John and Sherlock's chair. Smoke started to rise from it.

"Well, John, it doesn't look like this is going to be so boring after all," Sherlock said.

And then darkness came.

A/N Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I really hope you guys like this chapter! Sorry for the delay, but I had to wait for my new computer charger to arrive, due to my dog destroying the last one. Thank you for the reviews last chapter! They inspire me and make my day every time. Enjoy!

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence/torture.

John can hear to voices around him. His eyes are closed and his head is groggy. The two voices seem to be arguing. John recognizes one as Sherlock. At least he is ok. John moves to rub his face with his hands, but they won't obey him. Tugging on his arms, he becomes aware of the ropes around them. He is sitting in a chair. Panic rises in his stomach. Not sitting, tied. Tied to a chair. _What is going on?_

Keeping his eyes closed, he tries to focus on the second voice invading the room. It takes a half a second. Moriarty. _Well, fuck._

"Oh!" Moriarty exclaims, in a high-pitched voice. "John decided to join us!"

John opens his eyes, blinking the blurriness from them. He focuses on Sherlock, but the man refuses to make eye contact. John runs his eyes over Sherlock, checking for any injuries. Relieved, John sees his friend is fine. The only thing wrong is the gun against Sherlock's side, held by Moriarty.

"What is this?" John asks, already annoyed by the situation.

Sherlock finally connects his eyes with John. Sadness crosses over Sherlock face, but as quickly as it came, it disappears.

"John, I'm a little disappointed," Moriarty says, placing a hand over his heart in mock-sadness. "I thought you would be pleased to see me!"

"Not in the least."

Moriarty turns to Sherlock, pressing the gun harder into his side. "Why don't you tell him what we discussed, Sherlock?" Moriarty runs a hand down Sherlock's face.

Sherlock turns away in disgust. "No."

"Fine-"

Realization hits John before Moriarty can say another word. He is tied to a chair, but Sherlock is standing free of any restraints, besides the gun. _What is Moriarty planning?_

"You're going to torture me." _And make Sherlock watch._

"No! Ha!" He smiled. "That would be to easy dear John. And way less fun."

John gave him a confused look, but inside his heart was sinking.

"I'm going to make Sherlock do it."

"I won't," Sherlock states in a stern voice, but John takes notice of a slight quiver in his friend's voice.

"You don't have to kill him," Moriarty laughed. "At least not yet. We'll get to that later. But if you don't do this, Sherlock, I will have to shoot him in the heart."

"I'm aware that you are might be armed to high heaven, but I think you know that I would kill you before you even got the chance to touch him," Sherlock promises.

John watches Moriarty's face and is dismayed to note that the man barely flickers.

"What amazes me, Sherlock, is how little you learned from our last encounter."

With a sickening sense of inevitability, John becomes aware of the tiny red laser dot hovering over his heart.

"If in doubt," Moriarty starts, "Always have a sniper on the rooftop." He grins widely, secure in his victory and John is suddenly so sick of the games that he's droops his head in defeat. They can't win this one.

"But that would be way less fun, don't you think?" Moriarty questioned, his voice piercing the silent room, pulling Sherlock and John away from their thoughts.

"Why?" Sherlock asked vaguely.

"Because it's fun," Moriarty repeats, flashing a huge smile and then giving Sherlock a chilling look.

Moriarty's voice had no emotion, but it was enough to send chills through both men.

"You're sick," Sherlock grimaced, trying to delay this as much as possible.

"Yes," Moriarty sighed, faking his sadness. "But so are you."

Moriarty pulled out a large knife from his long black coat, putting the gun in the back of his pants. He grabs Sherlock's arm in a death grip. Sherlock reluctantly tries to pull away, but Moriarty's grip does not falter. Moriarty squeezes, causing Sherlock's hand to open in pain. Moriarty takes the opportunity to place the large knife in his hand.

Moriarty grabs Sherlock's arm once more, pulling him the few feet to stand in front of John.

"Come on," Moriarty says. "Show me what the big bad Sherlock is capable of."

"I'm not going to do this," Sherlock states, his face blank, but John can clearly see the fear in his eyes. He tries to give a small nod to Sherlock.

Moriarty guides Sherlock's hand, placing the knife on John's forearm. Sherlock obeys robotically, at a loss for what to do. The idea of turning around quickly and stabbing Moriarty flashes through his mind, but then he remembers the sniper and the idea fades.

"Why don't you start here? Before me we move-" Then Moriarty is moving the knife to hover above John's heart. "To here."

A/N The continuation of this story depends on you guys. I want to give what you guys want so if there anything you would like to see, please give me ideas and review! :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Thank you guys so much for the reviews, follows and favorites last chapter! Enjoy!

John met eyes with Sherlock, giving him the most reassuring look he could offer at the moment. All John could see in Sherlock's eyes was sadness, something that he was not used to.

"Go ahead," Moriarty said, guiding the knife and Sherlock's hand back to John's arm. He released him and stepped back.

Sherlock looked at John one last time and John nodded. Sherlock pulled the knife across John's arm.

John grimaced and blood began to rise from the top of the cut. Sherlock was shaking uncontrollably now.

"Oh, come on!" Moriarty yelled. "Do I have to show you how to do everything?"

Moriarty ripped the knife from Sherlock's hands and shoved him back. Sherlock stared down at his shaking hands, eyes unfocused.

Moriarty quickly placed the knife on top of the bleeding cut, putting pressure on it. He dragged the knife across the cut, causing it to go deeper. John cried out, causing Sherlock's head to snap up. He blinked his eyes rapidly, to focus. He saw the blood pouring from John's arm. It fell down the sides of his arm and dripped on to the floor, creating a small puddle.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, moving towards John. But Moriarty stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand against his chest.

"You will do this, Sherlock," Moriarty promises, lifting his head to connect his wild eyes with Sherlock's. "Or I will."

Sherlock looked away from him and stared towards John. For the first time, since Sherlock can remember, he is at a complete loss of what to do. Of course Moriarty would do much worse to John that he would. He had heard people talking of their worst fears before, the emotion he rarely felt. It seemed that most people had a great fear, sometimes even a phobia. Lestrade was afraid of stepping on sewer grates. Anderson couldn't stand lizards. John didn't particularly fancy small spaces. Sherlock supposed that this, this right here, was his greatest fear. Seeing John hurt caused an emotion in him that he had not really experienced before. And now, he is being forced to cause John pain. Or Moriarty will do much worse. Or just have his sniper kill John.

He could feel fear rising from his stomach. And then he felt angry. He saw red.

He pushed forward, ripping the knife from Moriarty's hand and pushing him back. He stopped in front of John, refusing to make eye contact and slashed.

A/N Please let me know what you thought. I will be posting the next chapter within a couple of days.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Hello readers! If you have seen the unaired pilot of Sherlock, you will recognize a scene from that in this chapter :) I hope you guys like this. Enjoy!

The knife connected with John's chest, creating a long cut from his right collarbone down to the top of his left rib. Sherlock glared at the blood gushing from it, then down to his shaking hands. He dropped the knife to the ground, breathing heavily.

Moriarty laughed out loud. Sending a shudder of hate through Sherlock and John. "Woah! See, my boy? I knew you could do it," Moriarty said, in a sing-song voice.

He moved up behind Sherlock and put his mouth against Sherlock's ear. "You enjoyed it didn't you?"

Sherlock turned his head away in disgust.

"Did iyou enjoy that?"

Suddenly, Moriarty's hand was moving down Sherlock's side and stopped at his thigh. "I know I did!" he laughed.

"Don't touch him."

Sherlock's head whipped up at the sound of John's voice. The blood was flowing from the cut on his chest more freely now. Sherlock moved his eyes to John's face and his heart sank.

"John, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't. It's-"

"As much as I would love to watch this heartfelt moment of yours, I'm becoming bored!"

Sherlock sighed deeply. "Please-" He hated to resort to begging, but right now that felt as though it was his only choice.

John suddenly gasped and Sherlock looked to him. He was staring at Sherlock's chest. Sherlock moved his eyes down and he saw a small red dot dancing around his chest. "Dull."

"Make another move towards your little pet and I will kill you," Moriarty smiled, then he turned to John. "What are you, John?"

"Excuse me-"

"To Sherlock? What do you think you are?'

"Uh. His-his friend," John answered, confused as to where this was going.

"No.." Moriarty shook his head theatrically. "No. You are the perfect example of the stupid breed of humans that Sherlock wishes never to become. He never needed you. Alone protects him. You were just a stupid cripple when he took you in. He doesn't need you. Your just his pet!"

Suddenly, Moriarty was being shoved to the ground. He hit his back on the floor and Sherlock landed on top of him. "Shut up!" Sherlock exasperated, pulling his arm back.

Moriarty put his hand against Sherlock bicep to stop the blow. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Moriarty stated, looking towards John.

Sherlock followed his eyes and saw that once again a red dot was making itself known on John's chest.

"Your pathetic," Sherlock spat, looking back towards Moriarty. "You have no power. You need your snipers to protect you."

"More than you have," Moriarty giggled, shoving Sherlock off of him.

Sherlock rose to his feet, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Well, this has been fun boys," Moriarty smirked.

"What-" Sherlock began, but the word came out slurred.

John immediately noticed. "Sherlock? Are you ok?"

"Your more resilient than I expected, Sherlie," Moriarty said.

Suddenly, Sherlock's head began to feel light and he stumbled. "What did..you do to me?"

Sherlock felt a stabbing pain in his arm and he lifted it up to see the cause. A small syringe stuck out from his bicep. He went to grasp at it, but he fell backwards, landing on a chair.

John struggled against his restraints, weak from the blood loss. "What did you do you bastard?"

"Don't worry," Moriarty assured. "It will do nothing more than knock him out. It's not time for him to die yet."

He turned towards John and began to walk toward him. He stopped briefly to retrieve the knife from the floor.

"Ge-get away from him," Sherlock begged.

Moriarty placed his hands on either side of John. "Poor little pet. It's been fun."

Moriarty pulled his arm back and shoved the knife into John. John screamed as the knife tore through his chest.

"John!" Sherlock moaned, before darkness took him.

A/N Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock woke to a sharp dull pain in the back of his head. His ears rang, but there was no noise apparent around him. He reached his large hand to his head and pulled it away, checking for blood. He opened his eyes, blinking them for a few seconds. Placing his hand in front of his face, he stared at it. Well, as much he could. The room was so dark, he had to give his eyes a chance to adjust. Quickly, they did, and he didn't see any blood on his head. _Drugged._ He hadn't hit his head, so there wouldn't be any wound, therefore, no blood. _Drugged by..? Moriarty._ As his mind slowly returns to him, Sherlock can almost feel the prick in his arm and the feeling of whatever drug Moriarty had ingested him with, coursing through his body. Sherlock shook his head in frustration and commanded himself to think. The rug beneath him felt familiar, so he was still in the flat. His eyes had adjusted well enough now, and his deduction was confirmed. But where was-?

"John!" Sherlock yelled. As the memories flooded back to him, Sherlock is reminded of John being tied to the chair and Moriarty had made him.._Not important right now._ Before he passed out he had seen Moriarty stab his only friend.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed again, slightly annoyed at how slurred his voice sounds. Suddenly, he jumps to his feet, ignoring the dull throb in his head and the dizziness that threatens to take over. He whips around the room, in search of John.

He stalks over to the front door and flips on the light switch next to it. Glancing around the room, his eyes fall on a chair. Usually posted at his computer desk, the wooden chair has taken its place in the middle of the room.

Sherlock walks toward it, leans down and runs his long finger over the cut ropes. _The ropes that held John to the chair as he.._

Sherlock places his hands against his head. _Not important! _Sherlock yells inwardly to himself.

"He took him," Sherlock remarks, talking aloud. "Why?"

But he knows why. To punish Sherlock. To punish him and get ahead in whatever sick game Moriarty thinks they are playing.

Shoving the ropes aside, Sherlock stands up and walks to his desk, retrieving his phone. After a few buttons pressed, Sherlock gingerly places the phone against his ear.

"This better be import-"

"Lestrade. Baker street. Now," Sherlock commands, not bothering to waste time with an explanation.

"Why?" Lestrade asks, sounding tired.

"It's important!" Sherlock exclaims aggressively, and hangs up.

Sherlock makes his way to his chair. He sits, legs crossed, hands together against his chin and waits.

* * *

The front door opening pulls Sherlock from his thoughts. Soon after he hears feet pounding up the stairs and the door to his flat swings open.

"What took you so long, Lestrade?" Sherlock pondered, keeping his eyes shut. "It usually takes you 6 minutes and 22 seconds to get here. It took you almost 9 minutes this time. I did say it was important, didn't I?"

"Sher-

"What could you have been doing? Giving the wife a taste of her own medicine, is my guess-"

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes fly open and his mouth forms a tight line across his face. He watches as Lestrade takes in the disastrous state the flat is in.

"What the hell happened in here?" Lestrade yells, as his eyes glance from the wooden chair, to the ropes on the floor and finally to Sherlock. "And where's John?"

A/N Please let me know what you thought and if you would like me to continue!


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